


Bodies and Souls

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2016 [98]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8389873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "any fandom with werewolves, any, a full moon" and the 2016 Shoobie Monster Fest.John and the team tackle werewolves and other shape changers on the full moon.





	

“Dad always hated hunting in Utah,” Sam said.

“Why?” John, Dean, and Sam were sprawled across the couch and chairs, doing their best to build a geographic profile of the werewolf.

“Weak beer and upright women,” Dean said.

“Utah has its own brand of hunters,” Lorne added. “They don't much like road hunters. We’ll be liaising with them. This will be a chance to mend some fences.”

Rodney was driving and Miko was navigating. Soft classical music was playing over the speakers.

“Mend fences?” John echoed.

“Dad might have ticked off some of the locals the last time he went through there,” Dean admitted. “So, Major, werewolves. Review!”

“Typical werewolves,” John recited dutifully, feeling like he was back in basic training, “change on the nights of the full moon. They are vulnerable to silver, fire, and decapitation. They consume the internal organs of humans. Often they are unaware of even being werewolves, but sometimes their kills are based on who they know in their regular lives. During the other days of the lunar cycle, they’re perfectly ordinary humans. Alpha werewolves have the same vulnerabilities but are not restricted to changes during the full moon, and they retain supernatural strength, speed, reflexes, and senses while in human form. Regular werewolves are made. Alpha werewolves can be born or made.”

“And?” Sam prodded.

John frowned. “And?”

“Black Bouquet,” Lorne prompted.

“Oh. Right.” John cleared his throat. “Black bouquet shapeshifters are of all kinds of animals, not just wolves. Not restricted to the lunar cycle, but more powerful on the full moon. Vulnerable to silver and fire. Can shapeshift in the appropriate clothes. Can be born or made, can procreate with humans. Not required to kill humans to eat - can live off of the internal organs of animals. They have their own internal enforcement system, and we leave them alone so long as they keep themselves in line.”

“Well done,” Lorne said.

Dean snorted. “That was so condescending. What next, are you going to pat him on the head and give him a cookie?”

“It’s like college all over again,” Lorne said. “He’s learned a lot in a short while. You and I grew up with this. He didn’t.”

“He’s right here,” John pointed out mildly.

Lorne ducked his head. “Sorry. You really are doing good, though.”

“Sounds like regular werewolves to me,” John added. “Kills on the full moon. Missing organs.”

Sam nodded. “I agree. Lobo is pretty bold, has a big hunting ground. Looks like it’s centered on this four-block radius.”

“Cedar City’s a college town,” Lorne said. “Very transient population from semester to semester. And that’s a block of student housing. Could be some kid moved in, is a wolf, doesn’t know it. Victimology is pretty scattered. Age, gender, race, socioeconomic class. Some pretty high-risk victims, though.”

“Werewolves are, in a sense, apex predators,” Sam said. “Not surprised this one took high-risk victims.”

“We just going to crash at the local KOA?” John asked.

“Actually,” Vala said, emerging from the back with a yawn and a feline stretch, “since we’re making nice with the locals, we’re staying with the locals.”

 

*

When Vala said _staying with the locals_ , she definitely meant _with_. Lorne parked the bus on the cement pad beside a large suburban home in a space John suspected was usually reserved for an RV. A plump, motherly-looking woman with red-blonde hair streaked with grey and wearing an apron was waiting on the doorstep. Beside her stood a tall, broad man with stooped shoulders and a bald pate, and also a young woman in jeans and a Darth Vader t-shirt. The young woman had dark skin and an asian cast to her features - Southeast Asian? - and she looked supremely bored.

Sam hopped off of the bus, and John followed. Lorne, Dean, Vala, and Miko followed, and Rodney brought up the rear.

“Welcome to Cedar City,” the woman said, bustling down the steps and coming to shake Sam’s hand. “I’m Ruth Fielding. That’s my husband, Timothy Fielding, and our daughter, Rachel.”

“So good to meet you, ma’am,” Sam said. “Thank you for putting us up.”

“Please, Sister Fielding. And we’re always glad to have assistants in the fight against the powers of darkness.” Sister Fielding beamed. “Please, do come in. Rachel, show our guests to their rooms.”

Rachel, with an expression of longsuffering, pushed open the front door. “For the record, Mom, this is why all the old ladies at church think I’m your Mexican house girl.” The smile she offered Sam was completely sarcastic. She barely came up to his shoulder. “C’mon in.”

“Do we call you Sister Fielding too?” Sam asked.

Rachel made a face. “No. Never. So, Moose in the basement on the massive queen bed, so you have enough room. Ladies in my sister’s room, two single beds. Squirrel and Cyclops in the guest room. Mouth and Hair in the office.”

Rodney said, “Excuse me? Mouth?”

“Obviously I’m the Hair,” John said.

“Radio call signs,” Rachel said.

Rodney blinked. “We have radio call signs? Since when?”

“We didn’t assign them.” Rachel showed them the stairs to the basement, the office on the main floor, and the stairs to the upper floor where the rest of the bedrooms were. “The Road Hunters did. My radio call sign is Short Round, and you can bet I didn’t pick it. Put your bags down, get settled in, and then there are snacks in the kitchen. Don’t worry,” she added when Rodney opened his mouth, “everything she’s made is citrus-free. Cyclops sent a memo beforehand.”

John could only wonder what sort of thing Lorne put in an advance memo for their team.

“What are our radio call signs?” Vala asked.

“You’re Goddess and Dr. Kusanagi is Queen.”

“How come she gets to be Queen?” Rodney protested.

Rachel raised her eyebrows. “Do you want to be Queen?”

“He’d make a good King,” John offered.

Rodney cast him a look.

“Unpacking, right,” Lorne said. “Thanks again for your hospitality. Let’s roll, team.”

The office was larger and more spacious than John would have thought it would be. It had a desk, on which three laptops were closed but buzzing with life, a bookcase seemingly built into the wall, as high as the ceiling, a sewing machine, and an upright piano against the far wall. There were two day beds that folded out into futons. John picked the one closest to the door, the best tactical position between him and Rodney. Rodney scanned the bookshelves.

“Apparently someone in this house is a chemist,” he said.

“Chemical engineer, actually.” Brother Fielding stood in the hallway. “Now, gentleman, we are very much looking forward to improving relations between our various contingencies. My wife is much invested in ensuring that diplomatic talks proceed as amicably as possible. To that end, she is basically going to do her best to feed you to death. You must be very firm and tell her when you’ve had enough.”

“Right,” Rodney said, looking wrong-footed. “Of course. Thank you.”

“My wife is a wonderful cook, though,” Brother Fielding added. “Also, my older daughter Leah is married to a rather poor fellow, but Rachel is quite bright, and -”

“Dad, I swear, if the next words out of your mouth are that I’m worth eight cows, I’m moving to New York with Erika and buying a hundred cats and never getting married.” Rachel smiled sweetly. “Food’s on, hunters. Let’s go!”

Brother Fielding hadn’t been kidding. The food was delicious, rivaled Lorne’s. There was apple pie, homemade rolls, homemade grape juice, homemade ice cream, and little sausages wrapped in puffed pastry. Dean, Sam, and Lorne were already munching away. Lorne was listening intently while Sister Fielding described her baking process.

Brother Fielding was trying to converse with Vala. Apparently he was originally from England, but because Vala wasn’t really British, she was floundering.

“So…” John said. “Werewolves?”

“Of course,” Brother Fielding said, turning away from Vala, who took the opportunity to go and hide behind Miko. “The Brotherhood and Sisterhood will be meeting tonight. Take time to relax and rest up before the festivities begin.”

“Festivities?” Sam echoed.

“You’ll see,” Rachel drawled.

Once Rodney firmly set the boundary with Sister Fielding about how much he would and wouldn’t eat, Brother Fielding invited them to gather in the family room to read, relax, watch television, or otherwise enjoy themselves.

Sister Fielding said she was going out to work in the garden. Brother Fielding said something about going out to work in his shop. He reminded Rachel, who was curling up in the recliner with a book, a ball of yarn, and a crochet hook, to set the table for dinner.

“So...this Brotherhood,” John asked. “What is it?”

Rachel lifted her head. “Pardon? Oh, you mean, you’ve never heard of the Brotherhood of Aaron?”

“No. I’m an Air Force major. Never been a road hunter,” John said.

Dean ducked his head, expression shifty.

“Oh!” Rachel straightened up. “Right. Brotherhood of Aaron. Official combat branch dedicated to protecting this state against supernatural forces. Sisterhood of Miriam is the, well, sister branch. All of us start when we’re eight with basic cardio and physical fitness. When we turn twelve, we start studying lore and more specialized combat tactics. When we graduate from high school, we have the option of doing a two-year tour in a foreign country to specialize in a specific country’s supernatural creatures and lore and also learn a foreign language.”

“And then what?” Sam asked.

Rachel shrugged. “Some kids don’t bother with the two-year tour. After the tour, we do - whatever. Go to college. Start a family. Get a job. The usual.”

Dean’s expression turned contemplative. “And that’s it? You never hunt again?”

“Every adult in the community is a trained hunter,” Rachel said. “If ever the need arises, we have a statewide army to mobilize. If a small hunt comes up, anyone can help out.” She shrugged.

“So basically you’re weekend hunters,” Sam said.

“Not full-time, but not just the weekends. Hunting is part of our lifestyle - the fitness, knowing the lore. But constantly being on the road, always changing schools and homes - it’s not very good for raising a family. Stability is key to a child’s success.” Rachel tilted her head. “It’s pretty simple.”

“Not an easy lifestyle to live, though,” Lorne pointed out.

Rachel smiled. “That’s true. But we don’t need tattoos, and we don’t need much in the way of spells.”

“Powering your magic with your soul is dangerous, isn’t it?” Rodney asked.

“What can I say? I got soul, but I’m not a soldier.” Rachel winked.

John glanced at Vala and Miko. Were they going to hunt the werewolves at all?

“You don’t have to stay at the house, you know,” Rachel said. “Dinner’s at six sharp - and don’t be late, because my mom takes dinner seriously - but till then, you have free rein of the town. Do recon for your hunt.”

“You don’t seem all that alarmed,” Sam said. “That there’s a werewolf on the loose.”

“Werewolves are always on the loose. Sometimes they kill humans.” And with that, Rachel was busy crocheting and reading. How she could do both at the same time was baffling.

John glanced at Rodney, who said, “Let’s go do some recon, then. We ought to pay a visit to the morgue -”

“Don’t pose as Feds. Just tell Doc Carver that you’re looking into the wolf kills, and she’ll hook you up with what you need to know.”

“Right,” Lorne said.

 

*

Going to the morgue and interacting with Dr. Carver - a bright, bubbly woman with shiny fingernails and a cute bobbed haircut - as Major John Sheppard and not Special Agent John Samuels or whatever other alias was on his credentials that day was weird. But she was helpful and cooperative. She gave them copies of her case files and findings, and they were ready to leave, but she said,

“Listen, there’s something about this case that doesn’t feel right. The team they sent in to investigate was - young, and maybe a little inexperienced.” She flipped open one of the files, pointed to a photo. “These are definitely wolf teeth marks. But that’s the problem.”

“How so?” John asked.

“When werewolves shapeshift, they don’t always turn all the way wolf, especially not the lunar-controlled ones,” Dr. Carver said. “So the teeth marks wouldn’t look like a full wolf. Also, when alpha wolves or pure shapeshifters take animal form, they are much bigger than the genuine animal species.”

“What do you think?” Rodney asked.

“I think someone killed these humans and made it look like a wolf.” Dr. Carver bit her lip.

John glanced at Sam and Dean.

“Someone trying to create tension between humans and werewolves?” Vala asked.

“Could be. There’s a clinic for the involuntarily turned, an alpha pack, and a shifter pack in town,” Dr. Carver said. “Some road hunters don’t much like the notion of humans cooperating with non-humans of any kind.”

John swallowed hard. Could Dr. Carver tell he wasn’t human? Could the Fieldings?

“What about the Brotherhood and Sisterhood?” Lorne asked.

Dr. Carver beamed. “We’re all for inter-species cooperation. My husband is a mountain lion.”

John blinked.

“That's wonderful,” Lorne said, and he sounded totally sincere.

So Dr. Carver had married a man who was sometimes a mountain lion. John’s mother had been an elf. It wasn't that weird.

“Have you told anybody else about your theory?” Rodney asked.

Dr. Carver shook her head. “The Elders they sent in were mostly concerned with confirming it was a lunar-controlled wolf. I put in a call to their Mission Leader but his office hasn't called me back. And the road hunters were about the same way.”

Of course she wouldn't tell the road hunters, not if she was married to a shapeshifter herself.

“There are road hunters in town?” Dean asked.

Dr. Carver nodded. “They used the pseudonyms Spengler, Venkman, and Zeddmore -”

Dean grinned. “ _Ghostbusters_. Classic.”

“But they called each other -”

“Tim, Steve, and Reggie,” Sam said.

Dean’s grin vanished. He cast Sam a look, and they exchanged grim looks, shrugged.

“At least it's not Gordon Walker,” Sam muttered.

John saw worry cross Dr. Carver’s face, and he stepped forward, offered her a hand, and thanked her for all her assistance.

The team left the city morgue. The city was small enough that everything they needed was within walking distance of downtown. They'd parked by the public library, then set off to visit the morgue. Next stop was the police station to get police reports from them, not just on the suspected werewolf deaths but also on any other suspicious deaths by allegedly non-human creatures.

“If the killers are human,” John said, “shouldn't we call the FBI?”

“We are also our own enforcers,” Dean said quietly. 

*

When they arrived back at the Fieldings’ house armed with information about other possibly staged supernatural murders, cars were parked in the driveway, out front, in front of several of the adjacent houses, and also across the street. John hadn’t been to a house party in a long time, but he knew a crowd when he saw one.

“Looks like a party,” Vala drawled.

“You mean time for politicking,” Rodney grumbled.

“Don't want to be late for dinner,” Sam said.

John followed the team through the house and out back to the garden where someone had set up an awning and several tables arranged in an open square.

All of the tables were covered in linen tablecloths, with fine china and flatware, crystal glasses. The scene could have been straight from a garden party on one of the Sheppard estates.

“We’re lucky we don't have to dress for dinner,” John murmured.

The crowd in the garden was large, to say the least. Most of them looked like a church-going crowd, young men in slacks and button-down shirts and ties, wearing shiny loafers and sporting haircuts last popular in the 1950’s. Young women milled around in pastel cardigans and full, long skirts, hair neatly pulled back, makeup subtle - if they were wearing any at all. There was one contingent of young men - two white, one black - wearing the jeans and flannel shirts and work boots John associated with Sam and Dean. There were other people in business-casual wear, looking more like they belonged to the right decade, hanging out in their own clusters.

“Right on time,” Sister Fielding said. “Please, do sit down. We’ll start with a prayer, and then everyone can dig in.”

Prayer? John glanced at Rodney who, as far as he knew, was atheist. John hadn’t actually prayed since he was a little child, since before his mother died, when they went to church every Sunday, and as far as he knew, prayers were tools and nothing more. But he bowed his head and remained silent and still while Brother Fielding blessed the food and the hands that made it and everyone who was gathered together in the spirit of cooperation.

Sister Fielding had strategically arranged the seating so John was sitting nowhere near his team. In fact, everyone was mingled, John’s team and the road hunters mixed in with the locals. John counted himself lucky that he was seated near the end of one of the tables beside Rachel, who was dashing back and forth, helping her mother serve the food. The young man to his left not only looked like he’d been plucked from the 1950’s, he acted like it, too, and not in the weird way that Lorne called people _sport_ and held doors open for Vala and Miko.

The kid actually said _golly gee_ when John told him he used to fly F-16’s.

Rachel, while she was dressed like the other girls, one poodle skirt away from a sock hop, still sounded like she was from this century, and her questions were geared toward actual conversation rather than small talk, comparing hunting experiences and lore. One thing Rachel seemed to share with her male Stepford counterpart was bafflement at some of the strange things John and his team did to handle creatures.

“You have to recite the entire exorcism prayer?” Rachel asked.

John nodded. “It’s how to get rid of a demon without harming its, uh, host.”

The boy - Zach - raised his eyebrows. “That must have taken a lot of work to memorize.”

“What do you do?” John asked.

Zach glanced at Rachel, who shrugged. Zach said, “I just say _go_.”

“And the demon just - goes?” John blinked.

Rachel nodded. “Yeah. Like how Jesus did it in the Bible.”

“But...you’re not Jesus.”

“Don’t have to be,” Zach said. “We were told to follow in his footsteps, and so we do.”

“Then how do you get rid of a ghost?” John asked.

“We don’t get them very often,” Rachel said, “because we always consecrate grave sites before we do a burial, but in the event a grave was not consecrated, all someone has to do is consecrate the grave and the ghost goes to peace.”

“No salting, no burning?” John raised his eyebrows.

Zach wrinkled his nose. “And desecrate the corpse? Never.”

John’s throat tightened.

Rachel smiled at him. “What we do isn’t for everyone, though. As your Dr. McKay pointed out, powering spells with souls is tricky business.”

“Why don’t more people do it?” John asked.

“Well,” Zach said, “it’s not easy. You have to purify yourself and take a series of vows, and if you break them, your ability to wield soul-magic is temporarily damaged or nullified. You can recover, of course, there is always recovery, but -”

“Some of the Brotherhood believe all should follow our ways,” Rachel said, “and those who do not are sinners.”

“And most road hunters laugh at us for being teetotalers and virgins,” Zach said.

“Uh, TMI,” John said weakly.

“We don’t stay virgins forever, obviously,” Zach said blithely. “I mean, we get married and have children eventually.” Then he shot Rachel a look and said, “Some of us get married, at any rate.”

Rachel smiled sweetly. “Not if you were the last man on earth, Zacharias Whitney.”

“Come on,” Zach protested, “our children would be beautiful, and between your natural skill with a knife and my natural skill with a gun, our children would be unstoppable.”

John glanced between them. “Should I move so you two can, I don’t know, punch each other or make out or something?”

“No,” Rachel said. “Zach and I are friends, came through the ranks together. He just likes to give me a hard time.”

“Major Sheppard,” Zach said, “what’s your weapon specialty?”

“Weapon specialty?” John echoed.

Zach’s expression was terribly earnest. “You know, some creatures are best dealt with via sword, or bow and arrow, or firearm, or even staves and clubs. Sometimes more exotic weapons, like scimitars or koa or -”

“Firearms,” John said. “I certified as a marksman during my combat training. What about you, Rachel?”

“Scimitars,” she said. “For things like djinn and daeva and zahhak.”

John had no idea what any of those things were. He glanced around the table. Vala and Miko seemed to be getting along very well with their conversational partners, as were Lorne and Sam. Dean’s expression was strained at whatever the woman beside him was saying, and Rodney was eating in silence, slicing at his roast potatoes with frightening efficiency.

Zach nudged John. “What’s it like, hunting with the Winchesters? Are they like the stories say?”

“What stories?” John asked.

Zach told John, in a low voice, of John Winchester and his teen sons rolling into town one summer to hunt a special kind of demon, how the Brotherhood and dispatched a squadron of boys and girls - all aged sixteen to eighteen - to assist, and how it had gone wrong. And a bunch of the squadron had died. Because John Winchester insisted his way was right and disregarded Brotherhood protocol. His description of John Winchester was of someone ruthless and unforgiving and bull-headed. Kind of like Rodney, but with the combat prowess of a Marine. And with a lot less hunting know-how in him.

“We work well as a team, Sam and Dean included,” John said. “They’re both fine soldiers and fine hunters.”

“Soldiers?” Zach asked.

“Dean graduated from Annapolis, is a Marine Captain, and Sam graduated from The Academy, is an Air Force Lieutenant,” John said. “They’re intelligent and disciplined.”

“Sorry about the other team,” Rachel said softly.

“Thanks,” John said, but he had no idea what other team she was talking about.

The food was delicious. If Sister Fielding and Lorne combined their cooking powers, John would never go hungry and unhappy again, he was sure. Sister Fielding had gone to great lengths to accommodate a number of food allergies, not just Rodney’s, but John wouldn’t have noticed if Rachel hadn’t pointed it out.

“Do you know what tonight’s shindig is for?” John asked.

“To see if all three of our factions can work together on a hunt,” Rachel said.

After the main meal was served, the boys and girls scrambled to clear away the tables and arrange the chairs in a large circle. Once everyone was seated, Rachel and her mother distributed slices of peach cobbler topped with homemade honey lavender ice cream. Once everyone was served, Sister Fielding stood up in the middle of the circle and cleared her throat to speak. Good tactic, to talk while everyone else was distracted with food.

“Thank you all for coming,” Sister Fielding said. “I know there’s been tension between our various groups, but our best success is if we all work together. We have a hunt on our hands, and if we can work together on this, we can pave the way for interservice cooperation nationwide. It would be best to start this new, cooperative relationship with a clean slate. With that in mind, now is the chance to sort out our differences. Who would like to start?”

One of the flannel-clad men said, “We work with humans only.”

John had years of being a Sheppard Man to thank for the fact that he didn’t react.

One of the women in business-casual wear had long red hair and a heart-shaped face. “Look around this circle and tell me who is and isn’t human.”

“Give me a silver knife and I’d know in a heartbeat,” the man shot back.

Rachel said, “How do you know you’re all human?”

The man blinked. “What?”

Rachel shrugged. “You know that alpha werewolves and Black Bouquet shifters can procreate with humans, and not every child is a shifter as a result. Some of those human-kids might have a few perks, though - strength, speed, senses, reflexes. Make for pretty good hunters. I’ve heard things about you, Tim. How quick you are on the draw, how -”

“Shut up,” Tim snarled.

Brother Fielding said, “Don’t speak to my daughter that way.”

Zach spoke up. “The hunt is pretty simple. It’s a lunar-controlled wolf. Track it down, put it down.”

A man with dark skin and broad features - Native American? - said, “It’s not one of us. Everyone at the clinic is accounted for on the full moon nights.”

Tim’s other white friend snorted. “That clinic is a joke.”

“Could be someone not affiliated with the clinic,” the red-headed woman offered. “New kid who moved in this semester, doesn’t know what he is.”’

Rachel shook her head. “No. We catch all the lunar-controlled on the first full moon. No one’s slipped our nets.”

“You don’t follow lore,” Reggie said. “How do you know your nets are totally effective?”

“We don’t follow your lore,” Zach said, “but then you’re too lazy to handle real magic, so -”

John glanced at Rodney. This was getting out of hand fast. John said, “It’s not a lunar-controlled wolf.”

“It’s not an alpha wolf either,” the redheaded woman snapped.

“And it’s not one of the Black Bouquet,” said another woman.

John sighed. “It’s a human, making the kills look like wolf kills.”

Brother Fielding cut Zach a sharp look. “You said -”

“Doc Carver said there were wolf bite marks on the bodies,” Zach protested.

Brother Fielding raised his eyebrows, and Zach added, “She might have mentioned some anomalies.” He shrunk in his chair a little. “I probably should have inquired further. But all of the information we had pointed to a lunar-controlled wolf.”

“Why would a human do that?” Reggie asked.

“Humans can be monsters too,” Sam said softly.

Reggie hissed something at him that John didn’t hear but that had Dean rising out of his seat. Lorne caught his arm, held him back with a murmured warning.

“Maybe precisely for this,” Vala said. “To make us distrust each other even more. If we’re not united, then the monsters will continue as they always have. And maybe gain traction.”

“Why would a human want to help a monster, unless they were, I don’t know, in love with a monster?” Tim made a face.

“Maybe it’s not a human.” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s a monster that’s not a werewolf.”

“That’s a lot of different types of monsters,” Rachel said. “But we can do research. In the meantime -”

“In the meantime,” Sam said, “we can continue as planned. Stake out the hunting grounds, catch whoever is doing this.”

Tim and Reggie’s other friend eyed him. “How are we going to figure out who the next victim is? For months these deaths have been happening, and none of you local hunters have been able to stop it.”

“Well, now we have more hunters and a more coordinated effort,” Miko said as diplomatically as possible. “So, what’s the plan?” 

*

John didn’t like this plan, didn’t like it one bit, but in the effort of inter-service cooperation, he, Rachel, and Zach were holding one section of a perimeter of one of several clearings where they figured the staged werewolf murders had taken place. The ‘chief command’ (leaders from every faction: Rodney for Project Orion, Rachel for the Sisterhood, Zach for the Brotherhood, Tim for the Road Hunters, the redheaded Lila for the alphas, the Native JR for the lunar-controlled, and the petite Hannah for the Black Bouquet) consulted with Dr. Carver. Miko, Sam, Rodney, Brother Fielding, and Rachel helped her run some tests and come up with evidence about where some of the bodies might have been killed before they were dumped. Four bodies, three locations, everyone divided into three mixed teams.

Tim and a couple of alpha wolves and Black Bouquet shifters were scattered in concealed locations around the rest of the clearing (because the lunar-controlled were zero help on a night with a full moon). Between the alphas and the shifters - one of whom was Mr. Carver, a pleasant-faced, ruddy man with golden hair - they’d worked hard to mask their scent from any other animal-shifters or even vampires.

John was too old to be crouched up a tree, and he was pretty sure that should the suspected serial killer come charging into the clearing, he’d be too cramped up to do much more than fall out of the tree and embarrass himself.

Zach had changed into practical denim and flannel and work boots and was clinging to a broad bough like a monkey, pistol and knife to hand. Rachel, by contrast, was sitting cross-legged in the vee of two boughs, and looked like she was meditating. John had never been jealous of a woman’s flexibility before. Admiring, yes. Jealous, no.

He wondered how Rodney was faring.

Dean strode into the clearing, hauling a body with him. John stared as Dean knelt, set the body down.

The body was a teenage boy, wearing jeans and a t-shirt for one of the local tech colleges. John couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or dead.

John tapped on his bluetooth and breathed, “Captain?”

Down in the clearing, Dean didn’t even twitch, hadn’t even heard.

But then Dean said, “Major?”

“Major,” Zach hissed, “what the hell? That’s one of your men?”

“No,” John breathed. “It’s not.”

Rachel, also dressed in practical denim and flannel, reached into her denim jacket and drew out her cell phone. She turned it on, and then she plucked an acorn off the tree, threw it. Dean lifted his head, and John saw, on the screen of Rachel’s cell phone, that his eyes were glowing.

Rachel snapped a picture, sent a text message.

“Major,” John breathed, “what’s your twenty?”

“Holding position,” Dean whispered back.

Best as John could tell, the Dean down in the clearing wasn’t speaking.

John leaned toward Zach. “What is it?”

Zach’s expression was grim. “It’s a snake.”

“A snake?”

“Shapeshifter that turns into other humans instead of animals. Sheds its skins between shifts.” Rachel uncurled, crouched on the bough. She checked her phone. “Just got word from Lila. Wait till everyone is in place, and then we close.”

John nodded.

The snake-Dean down in the clearing shrugged off the noise Rachel had made and crouched down beside the victim. In addition to the body he had a backpack. He rifled inside it and came up with - a wolf skull. A pair of bolt cutters. A saw. Something else John couldn’t make out but that was probably what the snake used to cut open the body and steal the organs.

Rachel checked her phone again, signaled, and Zach began slithering out of the tree. Rachel followed and John, limbs protesting, brought up the rear. The three of them landed soundlessly on the ground, and when John looked around, he saw - everyone. Standing in the trees outside the clearing.

“All right, buddy,” snake-Dean said, and he sounded just like real Dean. “Sorry it has to be you, but for the safety of me and my pack, I gotta keep the humans and the animals sniping at each other. I like this face, though. Pretty. Smooth with the ladies. All the stuff rattling around up in this skull is a little -” He whistled. “Yeah. Messed up. But useful, though. I can stay one step ahead of any pack of hunters.”

“Well, you screwed that up royally,” the real Dean said, stepping into the clearing. “Because we’re onto your game.”

Snake-Dean was on him in a flash. John raised his gun reflexively, but Lorne yelled, “Hold your fire!”

“Dean?” John asked. “Captain, is that you?”

Rachel hissed, “Snakes can access the memories of anyone whose form they take.”

Both of the men in the middle of the clearing separated, rose to their feet, guns pointed at each other. Both of them were wielding pearl-handled Colt .45’s. The snake had done his research.

“Which is which?” Zach asked.

Rachel held up her phone. “The one with the wrong eyes.”

“Easy now,” Sam said. “No one needs to get hurt.”

Rachel said, “It’s the one on the left.”

“Whose left?” someone asked.

“Mine,” Rachel said.

Someone fired.

The snake went down. And Dean took off running.

“Dean?” Sam asked, starting forward.

Rachel spun away, took off running. Zach reacted like a ninja, drew a silver blade from somewhere in his jeans, and threw. Rachel went down with a cry. Smoke rose from her body were the silver blade was embedded.

John started toward her, gun still raised. “What happened?”

“She was a snake too,” Zach said. He looked sick. “The real Rachel is probably dead. I -”

“Dean!” Lorne tore past a group of people and fell to his knees beside the body in the clearing. “Dean? Talk to me.”

Someone was shouting for a search party, to go after the snake Dean.

“Lorne.” John hurried to his side. “Is he -?”

Lorne had a hand at Dean’s throat, the other hand on his chest. Blood was soaking Dean’s shirt. Lorne’s eyes were wide, and he was breathing fast and shallow. “Lorne?”

“Call 911,” Vala snapped.

“This guy’s okay,” Miko said, kneeling beside the intended victim.

“Put pressure on the wound,” Lorne said.

John and Vala leaned in obligingly, pressed down, Vala’s hands on top of John’s.

“He’s not breathing,” Vala murmured, catching John’s eye.

Lorne shrugged off his jacket and waistcoat, rolled up his sleeves, uncaring of getting blood all over his clothes. “Stay with me, Dean.”

Rodney knelt down, pressed his fingers to Dean’s throat. “Lorne -”

“No,” Lorne hissed. “He’s going to be fine.”

“He has no pulse,” Rodney said.

Lorne tore open his own shirt, heedless of the buttons, stripped off his undershirt.

Sam fell to his knees beside Lorne. “Dean. Dean, buddy, you gotta hold on.”

Lorne did something that John didn’t quite understand, and several of the tattoos on his skin lit up, like they were made of fire instead of ink.

“Hang on,” Rodney said, but Lorne was speaking in syllables that sounded like nonsense, and he was tugging things out of the dozen pockets inside his jacket, powders and feathers, stones and what looked like a candle.

Lorne set the candle on the ground, lit it with a word. He burned the feather in it, and the powder, heated one of the stones. He started placing them around Dean’s head.

“Lorne,” Vala hissed.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked. “Lorne?”

Lorne shook Sam off.

“Hey, Dr. McKay,” Zach said, “paramedics are here.”

Lorne batted Vala and John’s hands aside, placed one hand over Dean’s heart.

Zach’s eyes went wide. “Wait, no!”

Light exploded outward.

Sam screamed his brother’s name.

John squeezed his eyes shut and flung himself at Vala, covering her body with his.

Dean said, “What happened? I feel like I got hit by a mack truck.”

“Lorne, what the hell did you do?” Sam demanded.

John opened his eyes, pushed himself up. All around him, people were picking themselves back up.

Lorne clasped Dean’s shoulders, pressed his forehead to Dean’s.

“I couldn’t lose you,” he sobbed. “I couldn’t.”

Dean blinked at him. “Evan, what did you do?”

Zach heaved himself up onto his knees. “Soul bond,” he said. “He gave you part of his soul to keep you alive.”

The expression that crossed Rodney’s face was unreadable. “Lorne, why would you do that?”

Lorne didn’t answer, curled a hand around the nape of Dean’s neck. “Are you all right?”

Dean sighed. “Evan -”

Sam looked poleaxed. “Since when do you call him _Evan?_ ”

“We have a snake to catch,” John said, “and Rachel Fielding to rescue.” 

*

Rachel Fielding didn’t need rescuing. She showed up back at her parents’ house with what looked like Dean Winchester’s head in a bag. She gave it to Miko, told her to add it to her collection, and staggered for the bathroom to wash all the blood off.

Rodney refused to talk to Lorne and Dean for the entire rest of the team’s stay in Cedar City, leaving Sam and Vala to act as go-betweens. John and Miko stayed out of it as best as they could. John did see Sam corner Lorne, ostensibly for the _if you hurt him no one will find the body_ talk. Dean was jumpy, uneasy, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something weird to come out of his being soul-bound to Lorne.

It was Zach who gave John a volume on soul-magic and soul-bonds, let him study up on his own.

As it turned out, a soul-bond was just that: two souls bound together, usually as a token of love, with an exchange of pieces. In rare instances, one person could sacrifice part of their soul to another to keep them alive. But there were no strange side-effects, no mind-reading or empathy. Just two souls bonded. In a mutual bond, one dying wouldn’t affect the other. In a rescuing bond, though, the weaker soul would fade if the other soul was killed.

Lorne’s life was literally in Dean’s hands. Lorne didn’t seem to mind.

Dean didn’t know what to think, when John told him.

It was Miko who ended up making the most headway on the politics front, collecting business cards from Hannah, Lila, and JR, exchanging other contact information, and volunteering to donate some origami masterpieces for a fundraiser for the werewolf clinic.

John was pretty sure no one thought he noticed, but he did notice the way Sam, Dean, and Lorne all stared at the box containing the snake’s head as they filed onto the bus.

John climbed into the driver’s seat, and it was Vala who sat beside him.

“Where to?” John asked.

Vala sighed dramatically and flopped back in her chair. “The middle of nowhere.”


End file.
